George Gibson POLLEY
1920 - Human Fly Says He Takes No Risks: Hasn't Fallen and Never Expects To

KANSAS CITY. Mo.—Standing perilously on the narrow ledge of a window, a man balanced himself for a leap that meant life or death. Just above was the protruding cornice of the building. Upon its tin surface. The summer Sun beat mercilessly, its rays heating the metal to a temperature human fingers could not touch without intense pain.

Cooly, the man calculated the disstance to the cornice. Raising himself on tiptoe, he caught the edge with his finger tips. He withdrew quickly.

Ten stories below a crowd of several hundred persons watched breathnerves tense, as they saw the man risk his life.

A handkerchief was placed on the cornice and upon it the man placed the tips of his fingers. His muscles tightened. Slowly he drew himself to a level with the cornice. He wavered, and the crowd gasped. Then he swung one knee to the roof and in a Jiffy he was standing in safety, waving his arms to the crowd.

“He’s a nut—plain squirrel food,” remarked a man in, the crowd to his neighbor.

"You said it. They have to be to pull that kind of stuff,” was the reply.

Which represents rather accurately the average opinion of the genius “human fly.” which boasts of quite a colony.

Polley Has No Illusions

But a "close up” of George Polley, the most human of all “human flies,” and probably the most daring, too, knocks the props from under the supposition that the permanent abode of the average “fly” is a padded cell. Neither does one gain the impression from talking to Polley that he is laboring under the delusion that he is Napoleon’s grandmother.

For George Polley, twenty-three years old, is just a clean-cut, like-able sort of chap who looks just like any other normal human—except when he's defying death at an altitude that’s higher than the cost of living. He doesn’t affect weird clothes or unique mannerisms. He’s just the average American youth who earns a living—and a very good one, at that — in a different way than
most of us.

To hear Polley tell it, climbing tall buildings is just a trick of balance. But it required nine years for him to perfect that balance so that he can defy death with some assurance of an equal chance of safety.

Polley has climbed thirty-seven stories of the Woolworth building in New York. He has shinned up the Boston Custom House tower, one of the most difficult feats any “human fly” can attempt. And, during the war, he was sent from a military camp to tour the country to boost the Liberty loans. On these tours he often climbed as many as seven
buildings a day.

Was Knocked Down Once

“I've been at it ever since I was fourteen years, old,” he said. "I've never fallen, with the exception of on one occasion, when a ‘fly’ above me fell and knocked me to the ground, and I never expect to. It’s just as safe as any other profession, if a person uses judgment.”

“What good is Judgment going to do if your foot slips?” he was asked.

“Mine won’t slip, unless I become paralyzed,” he answered.

Polley has habits that are in perfect accord with the new era of antiism. He does not smoke, drink or indulge in any habits that might injure his health. He never becomes dizzy when at great heights and he never takes “foolish chances.”

Polley is slight and appears to weigh about 125 pounds, although he tips the scales at 163. His tremendous muscle of the forearm and back enable him to pull himself straight upward and travel from story to story of the tall buildings he climbs.

The Atlanta Tri-Weekly Journal
Atlanta, Georgia
July 20, 1920

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